Still Water Runs Deep
by SonicTeamFreeWill
Summary: "River Song never cried. If she did, she might never, ever stop." A moment of River Song's thoughts between The Angels Take Manhattan, and The Snowmen. Possibly part of a larger fic or collection.


**AN ~ Just a little something because I haven't written in a while. Originally part of a longer fic or collection I'm still tossing up about writing. I've just binged on almost-9-seasons of Supernatural though so keep an eye out for something along those lines if you're interested in it. I'm not sure if I'll write anything yet but just a heads up.**

**By the way, my heart is bleeding for my Doctor! I of course made a video about it, at long last, www . youtube watch?v=vO0p6zd-Llw&list=UU2dLGS_N1w0r1FqtMfVZRTw&feature=c4-overview**

**Anyway, this is set between The Angels Take Manhattan and The Snowmen. Enjoy.**

Still Water Runs Deep

"_Travel with me then."_

River stared upwards at the ceiling, letting her eyes drift out of focus and blur the warm orange light that glowed amongst the rafters as the Doctor's words echoed in her ears. It had been weeks now, and instead of getting better, he was drawing further away from her and it felt more and more like there was nothing she could do. She didn't expect him be back to his usual, cheerful self. Oh, that would take years. In fact, he would probably never be the same again. All she asked was some sign that he would not take the Tardis to the bottom of the ocean somewhere and just open the doors.

Sometimes River hated herself for feeling like this. It was as though she blamed him for his guilt and his sorrow. Did she? It was not as though he was not trying. He had made all the promises he could make, he just begged for time, and she had to grant him that – he was grieving, not just for the Ponds, but for her and what she had lost, and for 200 years of family, and for all the companions whose losses he had, or so it seemed to him, never learnt from. River had tried to flirt him out of it, annoy him out of it, fight him out of it, but each time they came close to breaking free, something would send him crashing back to the depths of his heart, and deeper. Now all that was left, was waiting.

Sometimes she pulled him out, dragged him on a walk or to a museum or a cafe. Sometimes she tried to engage him, pointing out things that he might find amusing, or that about which he might tell her a story. In these moments he would smile sadly, apologetically, at her and remain silent. The distance between them would suddenly felt like a colossal chasm, utterly unbridgeable, and River would think that this time, she might finally cry.

She never did, though. And maybe that made it worse for him. Maybe feeling as though he could not be trusted with her emotions was as much a burden on him as his own emotions. She recalled his face, when she had let slip _the wrist is pretty bad too_, and it had suddenly dawned on him the extent to which their relationship hurt her. Which it did, sometimes. It really did. She was mad, she was sure, for staying with him. In fact, if she tried to travel with him as he wanted her to, they would probably destroy each other. Part of her wanted to let him in on that. When he had fixed her wrist, maybe if she had just thanked him instead of flaring up like that, he would not be quite so withdrawn now. If they could just acknowledge the flaws in their relationship, perhaps things would not get so bad.

But she had flared, and spat his words and his love – and his _life – _back in his face. She could not let him see that she needed help. It was not just for his sake, though she liked to tell herself that: what would River Song be if she ever realised she was not strong? Her strength, at some times, was all that she had. If she could not get over a broken wrist for the man she loved most in this universe, how could she call herself a strong person? If she could not bite back her tears the next time he demanded her secrets, how could she be sure that she could protect both of them, and everyone they loved, from hostile parties that wanted to know? How could she be certain that she had not survived on pity and charity? If River Song was weak, her whole life was out of perspective, her childhood was a waste, her identity was as much a mess as her timeline and – worst of all - she was not good enough for the Doctor. He only travelled with the best.

No. River Song never cried. If she did, she might never, ever stop.


End file.
